pretty pissed
by vvenom
Summary: nothing good can come of a drunken party fight, right? (craig/stan & kyle/stan)
1. chapter 1

"Stan, maybe you should chill on the drinking."

Kyle's voice sounds a million miles away as I turn the bottle bottoms up, the chilled rim pressing hard against my lips. It burns going down, but just in the way I like, and as I bring the bottle down I drag my focus back onto the party around me. I'm usually not very big into parties, but they're definitely big into me. Once I hit sophomore year and Craig told everyone about dad buying me a six pack for my 16th birthday, I was automatically a must-have at every event. As stocked as our alcohol cabinet stayed, and as drunk as my dad always was there was no way a few missing bottles would go noticed every few weeks or so. Plus, South Park wasn't a big town, a few bottles was all one needed to supply a party like this.

"Stan, are you fucking deaf?"

I draw my attention back to Kyle, and goddammit he looks so good when he's pissed. He recently got an undercut, allowing his curly, lively hair to swing in his face just enough to be devastatingly cute. His thick dark brows are furrowed, and his hazel eyes are locked dead into mine as color rises into his cheeks. Damn, maybe he is a little angry.

I lean in harshly, using the crowd and my intoxication levels as excuses to get a little closer than I should. My lips brush his ear lobe by accident, but I feel his body stiffen under me.

"Look, it's a party," My words are slurring and it's almost obnoxious, but I don't try to mask it any. "This is literally the only way to have fun at one of these things."

I push the bottle into his hands as Eric's voice echoes from somewhere down the hallway.

"Kenny, you get your bitch ass back over here with my hat right fucking now! I swear to christ McCormick I will shit on everything you love!"

Before either of us can respond a blur of strawberry blonde rushes past, leaving the scent of waffles behind it. Butters bumps into Kyle and I abruptly, nearly causing me to tip the bottle over on Kyle's thin grey sweater.

He shoves through the crowd, a look of worry stretched over his face and a lack of pants over his legs as Kenny dashes behind him, a shitfaced grin plastered to his face as he cackles loudly, Eric's hat being the only article of clothing on his body.

Cartman recently acquired what has now been identified as the worst haircut ever. An uneven hard part ran almost through the center of his head, his thick hair poking straight up from being cut too short on one half of his head. Granted, if fixed correctly it wouldn't look too horrendous, but was Eric really ever going to put effort into his looks? Probably not.

Kyle's gaze follows Kenny's bare ass out of the room before locking back into mine. He snatches the bottle from my hand, and in one smooth movement is pouring the liquor down his throat, his pretty pink lips wrapped around the bottle.

I force myself to look away before I let my thoughts get the best of me, my gaze catching a lone Craig through the kitchen doorway. It was pretty vacant in the kitchen, a few kids from different cliques I didn't recognize and then Craig, pushed up on a counter near an open window, cigarette in hand. Craig's silver eyes seemed empty behind the lenses of his lime green prescription glasses, black unwashed hair tousled messily around his face. Craig hit puberty like a brick in eighth grade, a hard jawline and defined arms coming from what seemed like nowhere. He seemed to stick to himself most of the time, when he wasn't hanging out with Tweek that is, but he still talked to all of us when the opportunity arose. I guess I should make some opportunity.

I give Kyle some drunk excuse about needing something from the kitchen, which he probably doesn't hear as his attention is drawn to Eric, who entered the room while I wasn't paying attention and is now trying to wrestle a naked Kenny down from on top of a bookshelf.

Craig catches my eye as I walk in, and as a slow grin stretches over his olive skin I tell myself this probably isn't the best idea.

"Stan," he shifts his position on the counter, turning to face me as I lean on the counter beside him. "This doesn't really seem like your kind of scene."

"I could say the same about you."

He pulls out a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his dark blue hoodie, some college logo painted across the front of it, and offers me his lighter.

"Nah man, I prefer to ruin my liver, not my lungs."

He shrugs. "Pick your poison."

"So why're you here? Where's Tweek?"

He blows smoke out the window, his eyes never leaving mine. "He's upstairs arguing politics with the theater kids. It got way too loud, so I dipped. Not that it's any better down here. Where's Kyle?"

I sigh, trying my hardest not to be irritated but being too drunk to care. "Don't say it like that. And he's in the dining room watching Kenny run around naked."

Craig's brows furrow as I reach into his hoodie pocket, pulling back out his cigarettes.

"Yikes," I drunkenly fumble with the lighter for way to long before he takes it from me. "Trouble in paradise?"

He places the lit cigarette on my lips, and I keep my eyes locked into his. "We aren't together. We never have been."

Craig scoffs and rolls his eyes, and I mentally debate whether or not he's as drunk as I am right now. I pull my cigarette out, roughly blowing smoke in his face, and he grabs the collar of my shirt as he hops down from the counter. Our faces are inches apart as he lightly blows smoke to fill the space between us. Craig's always been hotheaded, but this is more than that. He wanted to be this close to me.

"Back off, Stanley." His words slip lightly out of the corners of his mouth and a grin lightly replaces any residing anger. Oh yeah, he's drunk.

I plant my palms on both of his shoulders, flipping him around so his ass is pressed into the edge of the counter before dragging one hand down to his waist, keeping him right where I want him. "You sure you want me to?"

The bud of his cigarette falls to the ground between us, and neither of us pay attention to it. His grin grows as he leans into my neck, and while my head is telling me to get out, somewhere deep between my hips is screaming to drag him out to the backseat of my truck where I know no one will bother to check.

His lips barely nip at my jawline as I let the smallest drunken moan escape into the air. Fuck, this is such a terrible idea. I'm so drunk, and Craig is so hot, but Kyle is so a room over and probably wondering where I am right now and Tweek is so upstairs and could come down at any minute but this is so something I've been wanting for so long and-

His lips lock around the base of my neck, teeth raking against my skin and I feel my knees almost give out. Drunken hormones rage against the zipper of my pants as I push him back up on the counter, my cigarette falling somewhere on the ground with his. He laughs as his head bumps harshly into the cabinet behind him but I'm in no mood for laughing as I slam my lips against his.

His mouth is already open and I kiss him hard enough to bruise as I let my tongue slip into his without hesitation. He moans into my mouth and it elicits a rough movement from my hips into his, and goddammit I really hope the kitchen cleared out because I didn't even bother to check, but who really cares amirite?

He pushes himself down, his belt buckle clicking against mine and I look at him like deprived child.

He laughs again before leaning in against me. "Let's take this outside, alright?"

I can't speak, I just nod, and as we both slip out the back door my eyes catch a flicker of Kyle from the hallway. A fully dressed Kenny sits beside him now, looking a little worse for wear, but then again, so does Kyle. Maybe I shouldn't have convinced him to drink. He's leaned in a little too close for my liking, and Kenny is whispering something just goddammed hilarious into his ear. Kyle's laugh echoes down through the back door as the cold air slaps roughly against us, Craig's hand slipping smoothly into my back pocket.

Craig's done this too many times, I can tell. I almost consider asking him how many times he's cheated on Tweek. He seems way too confident, way to at ease as he takes my truck keys from my pocket and presses the button to unlock the car door. He opens it with ease, cranking it as he slips into the driver's seat, and I take the opportunity to pull him by his belt loops to face me, pushing in between his legs.

Craig moans as I drag my tongue against his jawline, planting a firm kiss against the jutted bone. He slips his hands under my shirt, cold palms raking up my spine.

"You know I never could see you dating Kyle," He talks lowly through a crooked grin as I suck lightly against his collarbone. "He's pretty fucking annoying, he seems like too much of a pussy boy anyways."

"What?" I pull myself off of Craig in one quick motion, nearly tipping myself over into the snow.

Craig huffs in disappointment from the sudden change of pace. "Well, he just doesn't seem like your type. Look I know you guys are like friends or whatever but he's definitely not in your league."

"My league…" I try to catch my breath but the the cold air chasing down my throat makes it seem impossible. What am I doing out here? "And you, Craig? You're in my league?"

He shrugs, his legs swinging from the driver's seat, a loose grin spread over his face. "I mean, I'd like to think so."

I grab the collar of his hoodie roughly, dragging him out and slamming the door behind him.

"Yo, what the fuck Marsh?"

"Shut the fuck up."

I leave the truck cranked as I trudge back into the house through the snow. I had one thing on my mind currently: getting Kyle, and getting the fuck out of this stupid party.

Did people really associate me with shitheads like Craig? Were we really the same breed?

All I could think about as I walked through the snow, Craig's angry shouting trailing behind me, was Kyle.

The way Kyle draped himself over the table, the way Kyle leaned into Kenny so effortlessly, the way Kyle laughed at whatever the fuck Kenny said.

I swing the front door open, leaving it open for Craig behind me, who steps in coolly as if nothing ever happened. I turn right, my eyes locked in on the dining room doorway, and I hear Kyle's voice lightly underneath the sound of heavy music and a drunk Kenny.

I push a little too hard past a small clump of people, drunkenly staggering through the doorway. At first a wind of panic runs through me as I can't seem to spot Kyle anywhere in the room, but then I see him in the back corner on the floor. He's sitting with his hands wrapped around his knees, back pressed against the wall sandwiched in between Tweek and Kenny, who are deep in conversation about who knows what. Kyle looks effortlessly beautiful in the dark light, his jawline sticking out roughly as the back of his head rests against the wall, his dark hazel eyes lazily switching between the two blondes beside him. I notice the bottle I gave him earlier is wrapped tightly in Tweek's hand, who is swinging it around angrily as I step through a group of freshman to the other side of the room.

"-but that's why I don't talk to Craig about- OH. Hey Stan!"

Tweek's voice is soft and rough at the same time, and I kind of wish I knew the context of the conversation.

"Hey Tweekers." I grab the neck of the bottle, pulling it from Tweek's hand and I lock eyes with Kyle as I take a sharp swig. Jesus Christ he looks pissed. I toss the bottle back to Tweek who barely catches it, and pray my liquid courage doesn't run dry as extend my hand to the prettiest, pissed off, redhead in the world.

"Where'd you go?"

I open my mouth to spew some bullshit excuse, but before I can even get a word out a shoulder bumps way too roughly into mine.

"Get up Tweek, lets fucking go."

Tweek stumbles over his words, dropping the bottle on the ground as Craig grabs the underneath of his upper arm roughly, yanking him off the floor.

"Hey, what the fuck!" Kenny pushes himself up off the ground in a heartbeat, and I press my hand lightly against his chest. Kenny had a soft spot for family violence, and literally anyone could tell you why. As fucked up of a household as Kenny had grown up in, I could completely understand why the situation had made him so tense, but Craig was drunk, and I knew well enough that he would never hurt Tweek. Well, physically.

My eyes meet Craig's and his brows furrow as Tweek stands in front of him.

"Craig," Kyle stands up slowly, and I can tell he's trying to sound as sober as possible. "Maybe you need to calm down."

"Don't fucking tell me to calm down, kike."

"What the fuck did you just say?"

Kyle's hands plunge into my chest in a weak attempt to hold me back, but it's almost like air as I push through them. I shove Tweek to the side a little too harshly and I don't even blink as I press both hands against Craig's chest and slam him into the wall behind him.

I know I can take Craig right now in front of everyone, and even if I couldn't Kenny is right behind me, and I know he has no problem stepping in for me. Liquid courage is pumping as fast as it can through my veins and I can feel my face catch fire at the thought of his words. Who does he think he is, fucking Cartman 2.0?

"Funny, you're trying to fight me now but you damn near had my dick in your throat earlier."

My fist swings into the wall directly beside Craig's head, my knuckles driving dents in the drywall.

"I didn't realize who was under who, maybe we should ask Tweek who bottoms."

I feel Tweek and Kyle's hands pawing against the back of my shirt, and a combination of the two forces me to back off.

I untangle my arms from Craig's, who's hands are wrapped tightly against the sleeves of my shirt, and fall back into Kyle and Kenny, giving Tweek a remorseful look and making a mental note to text him later as Kyle drags me to the front door.

"You stupid, drunk, hardass piece of shit, dumb…"

I try my hardest not to laugh as Kyle drags me by the hand to my truck, pushing me up into the passenger seat before climbing over me into the drivers. His ass grazes over my lap for a millisecond but it's enough to hang in my memory for months to come.

When he's finally in his seat, buckled in and car cranked, he texts Kenny to let him know we made it to the car okay and tosses me an angry glance.

Goddammit he looks so good, he's so gorgeous and I'm so drunk.

He's talking now but I can't hear a thing he's saying, and he looks more worried now than angry. I just keep looking at the way he moves his arms when he talks, the way his lips look as he wets them with his tongue in between sentences, the way he runs his fingers through his hair in a failed effort to push it out of his face.

"Kyle?"

He stops, drawing his attention towards me and putting his hands down in his lap.

"Yeah?"

"I think I might be in love with you."


	2. chapter 2

"Stan, pass me a beer."

"Huh?"

Kenny's face twists in irritation as he cocks his hip to the side. "Pass me a fucking beer Stan. Are you already drunk?"

I shrug, leaning over the shoulder of the ratty couch and dipping my hand into the cooler.

We're outside, and it's three in the morning. Kenny threw an old goodwill couch out in his backyard a few months ago, and let me tell you, it's a damned good place to get drunk at. He's got empty beer cans lined up along the top of an old park bench we stole a few years back, and we're all taking turns with seeing how many we can shoot down with Karen's tiny pink red rider 22.

We being me, Kenny, Cartman, and Craig.

It's been approximately 2 weeks since I last told Kyle I was in love with him.

Technically I wasn't lying, and it's not like it was the first time I had told him. I had drunkenly confessed my love to Kyle more times than I can count on both fingers, but something about this time felt different. He was sober, and the whole thing with Craig.

Craig. I hadn't really talked to Craig about the incident, but an unspoken truce seemed to loom over the two of us. I didn't talk about face fucking him with my tongue in his kitchen and he didn't talk about it either, which was appreciated.

It had been known that him and Tweek weren't on speaking terms, and I'm trying really hard to tell myself that it isn't because of me. To be honest though, I'm not. I'm trying really hard to get drunk.

I toss the beer to Kenny and he catches it with one hand, the tiny pink 22 in the other. He opens it with his teeth, taking a sip before setting it down in the dusty dirt beside his feet and aiming as best as he can in the 3 am dark at an empty bottle of jager.

"You've got terrible fucking aim dude." Craig's voice is low and drawn out, but he hasn't had a sip of alcohol. Rumor has it that he's developing sort of a pill problem, but hey, I'm really not one to judge.

I snort at his comment, leaning forward and snatching Kenny's beer of the ground in front of me. "Like you did any better."

I throw the beer back, making eye contact with Craig as I chug half of it before setting it back down.

He shrugs, he knows he's bad aim. I, on the other hand, have terrific aim. Even if I am a few beers in.

Cartman is passed the fuck out on the opposite end of the couch from me, Craig being slouched in the middle. Someone said they invited Kyle, but I think once he heard that Craig was coming he might have taken a rain check.

I wouldn't say me and Kyle aren't on speaking terms, because that wouldn't be true, but we definitely aren't on _best friend_ speaking terms.

I copy his homework, he comes over to play videos games, I drive Ike home from school when he stays late to tutor, but it's routine. We probably haven't held a conversation more serious than "Hey, you want a hot pocket?" ever since Craig's stupid party. I was drunk, I fucked up and said some dumb things, and the more I continue to stare Craig down on the couch beside me, I'm pretty sure I'm gonna do it again.

"Well," I stand up, stretching my limbs and dusting off my pants. "I think I'm about to head home. Craig do you, uh, need a ride?"

Kenny doesn't seem to hear me as he continues to reload the tiny gun, but Craig does, nodding and pushing himself up off the couch. "Do we need to do something about Eric?"

Eric, who calls him by his first name anymore?

I shrug. "He seems fine here."

Craig smirks and nods, following close behind me as I make my way around Kenny's house to my truck.

It's quiet out here where Kenny lives, something I've always envied about Kenny's house even if the steps are made of cinderblocks. The best part about Kenny's house was that it was far out enough to see the stars, which were ridiculously bright tonight.

Craig catches my gaze as we near my truck. "They're pretty."

I nod, looking down at Craig behind me. He's still making his way up the hill, and he stops a few feet away from me.

"I'm sorry about what I said about Kyle. It was fucked up."

Goddammit, I'm honestly way too drunk to get emotional with a strung out Craig in Kenny's driveway right now.

"Yeah uh, it's fine. I was drunk."

He laughs, and I can tell I'm giving myself away, but so is he. He's wobbly, his eyes are half lidded and he can't be still for two seconds.

"Get in the fucking truck you shit."

He nods, grin still plastered to his face, and paces across the gravel to the other side of the truck.

The drive is quiet, and I tell Craig he can crash at my place due to the fact that his house is right next to the police station. Even a stupid cop could tell that we're worse for wear, and going to jail is not in my schedule for tonight. I'm hoping that Craig's pants zipper is though.

Craig slumps against the window the entire ride back, and I can't help but steal quick glances at the way his V-neck dips perfectly across his collarbone and the way streetlights look against his olive skin. He's got his hair tucked up in a hat that Tweek bought him (it's dark blue with "fuck" embroidered in lime green on the front) but some of it is falling out, sloppily sticking against his forehead. It's hot.

I pull into my drive and tell Craig to get out, and he only nods before unbuckling and damn near falling out of the passenger seat. Dad is still awake when we both walk in, but he doesn't say anything as we climb the stairs as best we can in our current state, gripping each other for support the whole way up.

Craig enters my bedroom and rips off his hat, chunking to the floor before doing the same with his glasses and slumping himself on the bed.

"Goddammit Craig."

He's out like a light in almost seconds, and as I pick up his glasses and hat off the floor all hopes of getting lucky fly out the window.

It's probably for the best in all honesty, but something about Craig is so different than it's ever been with anyone else. With Wendy, everything felt so forced, like I was doing it because I had convinced myself I wanted it.

Memories like reruns play in the back of my head of hot afternoons in the backseat of Wendy's stupid Prius. I take the palms of my hands and press them into my eyes, trying to drive them out. It wasn't right, I don't think it would have ever felt right.

With Craig, it was always right, no matter the place or timing. Craig was as right as rain, and he flooded me like a thunderstorm. It wasn't love, and it wasn't even friendship, it was pure lust. I'm so selfish when it comes to Craig, even before this stupid party even happened.

Craig would come over all the time last year to let me copy homework when Kyle couldn't, and I couldn't help but dip gazes at his lower stomach as he stretched across my bed. It was one of the first times I realized I may not be completely straight, and so for some reason I couldn't get myself off of the idea of Craig.

I push the thought to the side as I sit down as quietly as possible on the end of the bed, trying my hardest not to wake Craig even though I knew he probably wasn't waking up any time soon. I became incredibly aware of the phone pressing against my ass in the back pocket of my discount-store jeans, and incredibly aware of Kyle's number on speed dial for the number 7. It's my lucky number.

I pull the phone out laborusly, and instead of calling I settle on a text.

"hey, what are you up to?"

I sit, phone gripped tight in my hands, and squint hard down at the phone screen. Kyle's been telling me for years to get my prescription checked, but asking my dad to go to the doctor was like asking my dad to give up beer. We weren't a doctor-going family.

The phone dings, and I tense up subconsciously.

"Sleeping u shit"

I grin, and I know it's only funny because I'm drunk.

"u wanna hang out tomorrow?"

I hold my breath, my weary eyes blinking over the dim light of my cracked phone screen.

"Well fuck I guess"

I release my breath into the air, another small grin stretching across my face. Finally, a break in our stagnancy. I say a quick prayer to whatever god is out there on my side and toss my phone to floor, collapsing on the bed, my back pressed firmly against Craig's side. I try hard not to think about the way Craig smells mixed in with the scent of my laundry detergent, and I try even harder to think about what me and Kyle are gonna do tomorrow.

Maybe Kenny will let us get fucked up on his backyard goodwill couch again. I wonder if Cartman will still be there.


	3. chapter 3

My first thought when I wake up is my head is fucking killing me. Sunlight striping through cracked blinds pours over the room, and for a second I can't tell exactly where I am. A sharp sting of panic rises in the core of chest before a wave of relief. I'm in Kyle's bed.

The familiar smell of cheap candles and watermelon shampoo fills my lungs and I feel at ease, sinking deeper into the flannel sheets and rolling over onto my other side. Dark red hair sprays over the pillow next to mine, and Kyle's face is so soft under the sunlight spilling through the blinds. His breath softly presses against my face and I can't help but smile weakly at the fact he still breathes out of his mouth when he sleeps after all these years.

I press my eyes shut and my headache worsens as memories from the night before replay themselves on the backs of my eyelids. Yikes.

I always tell myself after every night like this that it'll be the last time. That it won't happen again, that I'll pace myself, I'll enforce more self control. I always know better.

I want to wake Kyle up, but I'm not sure how late we got in last night or what time it even is right now, so I decide against it as I push myself out of the bed, bracing myself against the crisp air and making my way downstairs to the kitchen.

I'm shirtless and wearing Kyle's pajama pants, and I can feel my hair stuck greasily against my forehead making me crave a shower more than I've ever craved oxygen.

Each step down the stairs makes a light thud in against the carpet, and as the living room comes into view I can see Ike stretched out on the couch in front of the TV. I'm not sure how old he is now, or what grade he's in, but I'm willing to put my money on somewhere in middle school. Ike has gotten increasingly cool over the years, and really isn't too bad at holding a conversation when it comes to it, which looks like the case as he catches my gaze.

"You know it's like, one in the afternoon."

"Time isn't real, it's a ploy by capitalism to get us to feed into the money machine."

He nods, his eyes drifting back to whatever is on the screen. "True."

I walk into the kitchen, propping myself against the refrigerator door as I swing it open. "Anything in here that's not gonna make me empty my guts?"

He shakes his head. "Not likely. Kosher doesn't mean hangover-friendly."

I nod. "If I give you twenty bucks you wanna go pick us up some not-so-kosher, hangover-friendly bacon breakfast burritos and donut shop coffee from the gas station by Kenny's?"

His face snaps to meet my gaze, and before he even has time to question if they sell breakfast burritos this late in the day he's out the door with my jacket and truck keys, and I pray he makes it without getting pulled over. That would be such a fun conversation with Sheila.

I stumble back up the stairs, and as I swing open the door Kyle is awake, sitting up with his back against the wall.

"I sent Ike out for food."

He nods. "I heard."

"Also Ike might be a communist. I don't know if that's a Canadian thing, or a Jew thing, or maybe more of a combination of the two-"

"Shut up."

Kyle's smile cracks lightly between his chapped lips and I'm just glad I'm in the clear. "Yes sir."

I slam my body down on the bed, causing Kyle to bump against the wall and shriek. "Why are you so goddamn abrasive all the time!"

I can't help but snicker, my hand extending out to press into his lower thigh. He softens, the tenseness that lied there before now melting as I roll over into my back.

"You confessed your love to me again last night."

I tightly shut my eyes, trying hard to forget the words that Kyle just said but failing to do so. "Ah, yeah. I bet that never gets old."

He laughs half heartedly. "It really doesn't. I feel like you think it'll get you out of trouble every time you do something fucking stupid. Like, I don't know, try to fight Craig at his own party."

Wait, that was Craig's house last night? Shit.

I shrug, avoiding eye contact and trying to avoid the subject all together. I knew if we talked about it too much, we'd have to talk about the things he said and the things I said back. I don't know if I want to get too deep into that conversation.

"Maybe Craig should learn not to be an anti-semitic piece of shit, and then I wouldn't have to kick his ass on his own turf."

"Wow, I'm just impressed you know what that word means."

I reach up and shove Kyle down onto the bed as he explodes into a fit of giggles, smug on his own joke. He laughs as my fingers roughly dance over his ribcage, and I don't even really think about it as I pull myself over on top of him, throwing my right leg over his side and straddling his hips.

I stop after a few minutes, and his laugh dies down into a soft sigh. At first the quiet is weird, but then I can't stop looking at the way the sunshine pours into his eyes, or the way his freckles so closely resemble a night sky of stars.

"You know I may not be in love with you but I do think I might have a severe crush."

He opens his mouth as if he has something to say, but stops as a thick blush rises in his cheeks, his eyes looking anywhere but on me.

I take the opportunity to lean in just slow enough to let him think about it, just slow enough to decide if he really wants to do this or not. And it's crazy, because as his lips press ever-so-softly into mine, I can't even remember being hungover.

I wake up with a jump, my neck aching due to Craig's arm being pressed into the back of it. Fuuuck.

I have the same stupid dreams over and over, and waking up with Kyle after Craig's white-trash party has been the latest and greatest. Except, that totally isn't what happened.

I woke up the next day on the floor of my living room, right next to the front door where Kyle dumped me and right next to a pile of old vomit. My truck keys were a few feet beside me and the room was on an axle, spinning and spinning and spinning.

I didn't feel hungover now, I guess it means I didn't drink enough.

Craig's snores fill the room, and as I sit up I fish for my phone on the floor beside the bed. The clock on the home screen says the time is 11:36, and I decide to leave Craig in the bed as I get up to take a shower and get ready to go see Kyle. Craig is a big boy, and if he just so happens to wake up while I'm gone, it's not like Tweeks house isn't two blocks away.

I shower only fast enough to get smell of cigarettes and booze out of my hair and dress in the closet of my room in fear of exposing myself to my sleeping guest.

I grab my truck keys off the nightstand, slithering out of the house before anyone noticed. It's not like I was avoiding Craig, I just reaaally didn't feel like talking to him. Or looking at him. Or acknowledging him at all.

Like I said earlier, I'm not attracted to Craig in any other way than physically, and I didn't feel like dealing with his bitchy-ness first thing in the morning. Or almost afternoon. Whatever.

It's sleeting today, mushy rainy ice hitting the pavement in a blanket, and I pull Craig's baseball cap I stole off the floor over my head, making a mental note to take it off before seeing Kyle. After the whole thing at the party, it's best not to mention Craig at all around him. Even when someone besides me brings it up, I notice the way Kyle tenses and squirms at the memory, eyebrows pursing into the prettiest scowl I've ever seen.

Dammit, I can't use words like "pretty" to describe Kyle. Especially not sober.

I crank the truck as soon as I hop in, slamming the door behind me and cranking up the heater. The radio turns on to the super gay hipster station Craig turned it to on the ride home last night, and I immediately change it back to classic rock before pulling out of my driveway.

Before reaching Kyle's house I stop at a local gas station to pick myself up a few dollar energy drinks to get myself through the day, and him a flavored bubbly water. I avert eyes with Bebe, who works behind the counter, as she scans the item and places into a thin plastic bag.

"You drink this stuff?" She says it crudely in between chewing bubblegum. I've always liked Bebe, and we got along quite well. But Jesus Christ she cannot mind her own business.

"Nah, Kyle does. You know how gay boys are about bubbles in their water."

"So are you guys, like, back together?"

I stop mid-picking-up-my-bag to glare up into Bebe's perfect glitter-coated eyes, her long eyelashes waving as she blinks, glaring back at me.

"You know we're not like that. Not really. I'm joking."

She grins, leaning forward on the counter and dipping into the scratch-off display with her elbows.

"Stan, I'm not like, judge-y. Chill." She leans down, her voice lowering into a whisper, and I lean back into the counter slightly to hear her. "I heard about Craig, or whatever."

I roll my eyes. Bebe was entirely too gossipy, and I wasn't about to fuel into her idea of some weird, gay, jewish, love triangle.

"Bye, Bebe."

I walk to the door as she snorts behind me, going back to her phone in the back corner behind the counter.

Living in a small town had its perks, but it also really didn't. This wasn't the first time I had dodged questions or rumors about me and Craig since the party, and it most likely wasn't going to be the last.

I pushed the thought into the back of my head as I loaded back up into my truck and drove down a few roads to Kyle's house, Van Halen screaming at me over the radio to drown out the noise of the rain.

Kyle's front door is locked when I try to open it, meaning him and Ike are the only ones home, so I haul ass around to the backyard, my clothes fully soaked as I tumble in through the sliding-glass door.

Ike is on the floor in the living room, and he glances up as I peel off my coat.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Kyle is upstairs pretending he doesn't want to see you. Proceed with caution."

I sigh. Even Ike can tell I fucked something up.

"Sure thing."

I grab the bag of drinks and turn the corner to the stairway, keeping my head low as I ascend slowly, one by one.

For some reason, Kyle's stairs are the steepest stairs I've ever walked on in my entire life. I can't begin to elaborate on how many times I've busted my ass on these stupid stairs, and even now as I stare down each step before treading its waters, I worry about making myself look like an idiot in front of Ike.

When I reach Kyle's door, I open it like a mom would. I knock twice rapidly, and immediately open it without waiting for a reply.

"Come- oh. You're already in."

Kyle's sitting against the wall on his bed facing a small, flat-screen TV on the floor of his room. Despite the fact that Kyle's family has a little more money than most, Kyle was a simple dude. He didn't need a lot to entertain him, and that was one of the things I liked about him.

"Hey. Yeah." I shrug my shoulders, kicking my shoes off on the floor. "I'm in. I brought you a drink."

He offers a smile, and it's a relief to see.

"Thanks."

I toss the bag to him as I climb over the bed, pressing my back against the wall and letting my knee rest slightly brushed against his.

"So, what do you wanna do today? I was gonna say we should get plastered at Kenny's on that old sofa, but it looks like the rain shot that down."

Kyle twists the cap on his bubbly water, letting the fizz ease before opening it all the way.

"I don't know, maybe we should go to Token's? His family is out of town visiting relatives for the holidays, and he went too, but he lent Clyde's mom a key to house sit, so basically he lent the entire grade a key to house sit."

I snort, popping open some cough syrup flavored energy drink and chugging it as I mulled over the idea.

"Yeah. We could do that."

In the back of my head, I know that Clyde and Token are Craig's friends, but I push the thought to the side. Just because they're friends doesn't mean he had to be there.

"How many people are going?"

Kyle shook his head, his gaze focused on the small television. "Not a lot. Cartman was originally the one to find out about Clyde's mom house sitting, and he wanted to throw a big party or whatever, but Cartman is a fucking idiot so everyone said no."

We both laugh, and I lean my head against the wall tilting it slightly to face Kyle.

His eyes shoot over towards me, and he barely moves his head to look at me but I don't mind. I know he's still probably trying to be upset. Key word: trying.

"Hey, are we good? Please?"

The question hangs in the air for a second, a pregnant pause filling in every second that he doesn't immediately answer me.

Finally, Kyle's mouth elicits a small sigh, and it sounds soft compared to the drumming of rain from outside.

"Yeah. We're good, or whatever. I think I may have been a bitch these past few weeks."

I try my hardest not to respond to that last comment, knowing in my soul it was a definite test.

"It's my fault. I'm sorry for-" I pause, thinking over my words in my head before saying them. "for what I did. For what I said, again."

Kyle laughs, and I can see a light blush rise underneath the spray of freckles across his face. "Yeah, whatever. You'll say it again three drinks in tonight."

I sigh, knowing that I'm off the hook but also being slightly embarrassed at the same time. I know that I love Kyle, as a friend of course, but my drunk gay self knew I wanted more. If telling Kyle I loved him was a way of confessing my honest feelings for him, even at an extreme, maybe it was from not quite admitting these feelings to myself.

Yeah, Kyle is fucking hot. It doesn't take a girl to tell you that either. Other guys knew that Kyle was relatively attractive, and although the running joke was that Kyle was gay he had had his fair share of cheap fucks in his day. Girls dig softer guys, emotional guys. I was not an emotional guy.

But I definitely dig Kyle, and have been digging him for a little while. Everyone had their suspicions that I wasn't picky when it came to gender despite the fact I had never come out and said it, but was Kyle? Had he even ever kissed a guy before?

I keep my gaze over him, letting this mornings dream drift over the back of my eyelids as I blink.

"You know," I suck in a deep breath, cultivating confidence behind my sternum. "I may not be in love with you, but I do think I might have a severe crush."

I keep my eyes locked into him, analyzing his body language and trying my hardest to gauge his reaction. I could feel my forehead pin-pricking with sweat underneath the band of Craig's cap (fuck, Craig's cap) as I try my hardest to wear my best poker-face.

Kyle smiles, a small laugh bubbling from behind his perfect lips.

"Shut up. You can't say stuff like that sober."

I stop, my heart sinking slowly in my chest as it recoils from adrenaline before realizing, he's right.

"It's a good thing we have plans tonight then."


	4. chapter 4

Hi! I usually add a lot of authors notes to my stories, but I didn't to take too much away from the story lol. I really have enjoyed writing this! I really love the idea of the boys getting older and become more mature and exploring themselves. I hope you guys have liked it, and please leave some feedback, I love it lol! I'm not too sure if I want to really flesh this out into a long story or not let the storyline get too far away from me and keep it short and sweet and tied tight with a pretty bow lmao. Let me know what you think! thx thx 333 (ps, this a boppy song that suits this chapter lmao:  watch?v=0mk_aVOuGI8) enjoy!

* * *

Craig's eyes pierce through me as I enter the room, a cold grey stare that nobody in the room but me seemed to notice. I returned the same glare as Stan wiped his feet on the front carpet behind me, taking off his coat and setting it on the rack after taking mine.

I didn't like Craig, and I still don't like Craig. Most people would say it's because we're too similar, but I disagree. I'm not a _total_ piece of shit.

Craig's ugly glare lightens as his eyes sweep past me, his gaze focusing on the blushed face of my company.

Stan was actually paler than I was, but it suit him so well. Pitch black hair framing his face in a tight, neat cut with bangs that messily sweep over his forehead and vivid blue eyes, inherited from his father. Pale was something that he wore so good, and when the cold air stung his face it blushed so prettily.

 _Pretty?_ Gross.

"Hey, let's go to the kitchen and get a drink."

Stan's hand lightly presses against my shoulder, guiding me out of the room. The party was supposed to be in the basement, but what was supposed to be a few people had accumulated into quite more than a few people. The living room was filled with a few theater kids, kids from my math class, and then Craig. Totally not his crowd, especially not without Tweek, who is nowhere in sight. He must have been waiting for someone to come in. Whatever.

I pull my shoulder out of Stan's grip, walking to the kitchen and pushing my hands deep into the pockets of my pants. I was not expecting to be dealing with all of South Park High tonight. Fuck me though, right?

The kitchen is empty save for a few bottles of booze lining the counters. Stan brought a six pack and a bottle of cheap whiskey, and as he tosses them onto the counter his eyes lock into mine.

"Yo, what's your deal?"

"Did you just say 'yo'?" I avoid eye contact with him as I grab a solo cup from the top of the stack, thanking god someone brought a keg. If I had to deal with this bullshit, I was going to get belligerent.

"Shut up. What's your problem?"

I sigh, the sound pushing from my chest and past my lips. The rain outside made hair stick to my forehead, and I push it back as I look up to him. "Nothing. There's too many fucking people here."

Stan nods, his lips drawing into a tight line. "Yeah. Cartman probably stuck a flag up his ass that said 'Black Panther viewing party at Token's house' and waved it around the school. Got their little small-town, backwoods, racist veins a-pumpin'."

I snort despite myself. Stan always had a way of not taking things so seriously, of just rolling with the punches and calmly carrying himself through any problem. It was a quality I didn't have.

"I wouldn't doubt it." I take a long sip of my beer, preparing myself for the rest of the night. "Let's go to the basement dude, theater kids give me the creeps."

He grabs a beer and slips it into his pocket before palming the neck of a bottle of whiskey, and I put my plans of inebriation on hold as I watch him take a swig on the way to the stairs.

The bright lighting of the living room abruptly changes in the stairway, with multicolored Christmas lights lining the ceiling on the way down to the basement. I turn to glance at Stan as he steps carefully down the stairs behind me, using his free hand to push his hair out of his eyes and back into his cap. His bangs have gotten quite long lately, and they drag in his face a little more than usual, but it honestly looked a little better. It was kind of fashionable, in the messy-jockey way.

We step into the basement and it's a copy-paste of the hallway. Fairy lights criss-cross over each other in a tangle tacked onto the ceiling, painting the room in a beautiful multicolor low-light. There are couches and bean bags and plastic inflatable pool furniture filling the room and each seat had at least two people in it. Even though the room was packed, there was still not as much people as there was upstairs.

"Kyle!"

Kenny's strawberry blonde hair swings around his head in a fit of curls as he leaps from a couch in the back corner of the room, charging over a group of sophomores seated in a circle on the floor before reaching me and Stan at the doorway.

He's wearing a tight, Creedence Clearwater Revival tour shirt with baggy, ripped jeans and a pair of ratty, red converse. There's a bandaid on his cheek and another on his neck, and as he approaches he smells of cigarettes and Irish Spring bar soap.

He wraps his arm around me, holding his free arm up to point back at the couch he was previously sitting on. "I saved you losers a seat, Butter's couldn't make it. He's grounded. Looks like you're my bitch for the night."

I can see Stan tense from the corner of my eye, relaxing only to roll his eyes. "Oh jeez, not Butters." Sarcasm drips from his voice, and Kenny turns to him with a pointed look. "What a bummer. What are we gonna do without him?"

Kenny's eyes squint, and I can tell he's already drunk. "Overkill, Stan. It's called overkill. Now get your douchebag asses to the couch before someone else does."

We push our way through the room, almost tripping on multiple people, and collapse onto the plush seat. Stan wraps his arm over the back of the couch behind me, passing the bottle of whiskey to Kenny who sits on the opposite side of me. Kenny grins and grasps the bottle slowly, pulling it down into his lap before catching my gaze.

"You want a swig?"

I pause, mulling the idea over in my head before nodding and grasping the neck of the bottle. It usually takes quite a lot of convincing to get me to drink liquor, but something about tonight that made me want to get straight slammed, and something about Kenny that made me just want to have fun.

Stan laughs as he watches me push the bottle bottoms up, a bubbly giggle that pours past his lips like honey.

Stan generally hates parties, but loves drinking. They say you're doomed to become who your parents are, and Stan was definitely doomed to become an alcoholic. It was something endearing about him, and not something I took too seriously. Drunk Stan was kind of cute.

Cute. That's the second time today I've used a word like that to describe Stan. I've been keeping count now, of all the times I think of Stan in that way. Like… like he's a girl.

It started maybe last year, when Stan got his truck and started staying wherever the night took him, which was mostly my house.

He'd come over, pushing open the back sliding-glass door as slow as possible and crawling up the stairs into my room looking for a place to sleep off his buzz. He'd peel off his shirt in front of my window, crashing into the bed and pressing himself against me in his sleep.

I push the thought into the back of my head as I take another draw from the bottle, becoming extremely aware of Stan's arm resting in the crest of my neck.

I shrug it away, and it wasn't that I didn't like it, it was that I didn't like liking it. Everyone already assumed me and Stan were an item 99 percent of the time, but it was something we never talked about.

" _I might have a small crush."_

His words replay in my head as the alcohol seeps into the back of my eyelids, making my mind feel slightly hazy.

Two shots in and I'm buzzed, and all I can feel is Stan's leg pressed against mine, the smell of Stan's cheap dollar store body spray, the way Stan's hat is lopsided on his head.

Stan wasn't one to wear caps usually, but when he did it looked good on him. He looked goofy now, an already drunken grin spread across his face as he watches Clyde talk about something in front of him.

I felt crushed by the overbearing feelings of the existence of Stan and the weight of the alcohol on my head, and so I finish off my beer and push myself off the couch, pressing my hand into Kenny's knee to support myself as I stand.

"Hey, where you goin?"

I glance at Stan, who's fixing his hat, and his bright blue eyes are wide as he watches me catch my balance.

"I gotta pee. Don't shit your pants." The words have a sting on the end of them as they slither from my mouth, and as they hang in the air I wish I could take them and pull them back in. I don't understand why I have to be so defensive, why I have to be such a bitch.

His excited eyes sizzle into a scowl, and as his words from earlier continue to repeat over and over in my head I hate myself for being so rude. I didn't want to be rude, I didn't want him to resent me. I wanted to get the fuck out of this basement.

I trip over the kids on the floor as I make my way across the room, the door to the stairwell being my refuge. It's quiet in the stairway, and the cold brick walls feel good against the palms of my hands as I hold myself up and press forward up the stairs.

"Hey, Kyle."

I snap my head to look above me, a quiet and sturdy voice interrupting the silence of the stairwell, and lock eyes with a lonely Craig.

"Hey Craig."

Although I didn't like Craig, I wasn't sure if he didn't like me. Despite the whole "kike" thing at his party a few weeks back, Craig never really gave me a reason not to like him. I just didn't like him. Not that it had anything to do with Stan.

"You going upstairs?"

I nod, stopping in the stairway and pressing a shoulder against the wall when I notice he's no longer moving.

He's wearing some deep blue college jersey that slinks just barely over one shoulder, exposing his deep olive collarbone. Dark black pants that rip at the knees cover his legs and end at his feet with a pair of ugly, bulky sneakers. Ew. Not my type. Possibly Stan's though.

I try hard to form the words I want to say, my brain failing me due to being fucking drunk. "Ya, gotta grab another drunk."

Another lie. And a bad one too, considering my words won't cooperate with me.

Craig snickers, and I flinch as he extends his arm down towards me. He seems genuine, and before a few weeks ago I wouldn't have hesitated to accept.

"Let me walk with you dude, you can barely keep yourself up."

"Yes I can."

The slight grin covering Craig's face fades into a look of concern, and it reminds me of the look on Stan's face back in the basement. Another ping of guilt and self-annoyance hits me in the chest, and I sigh at the realization that I'm being a drunk tool.

"Look, I know you're probably still upset about my party. I was really fucked up dude. That was totally wrong of-"

I stop him mid apology, reaching forward and putting my weight on him as I grasp his forearm with the grace of a freight train.

Craig takes it with ease, lifting me as if I weighed nothing and sliding his free hand around my waist to support me.

I think back to the last party I went to, when Tweek told me he doesn't like to talk to Craig about sex. He said Craig is too rough sometimes, and it's not that Craig tries to, it's just he doesn't know his own strength.

The thought rests in my head as my eyes scan over Craig's forearm, veins drawing blue rivers over his muscular arm. I don't mind being roughed around a bit.

Fuck, I'm drunk.

Craig totes me up the stairs and into Token's kitchen, which is empty like earlier, and an uncomfortable silence settles in. I want to tell Craig it's okay, that he shouldn't be so harsh on himself considering there were other things going on at that party that I didn't know about at the time.

I take my solo cup to the keg in the corner of the room in order to follow through with my lie, averting eye contact with Craig the entire time.

"You, uh, don't have to stress. Me and you are all good. I know how it is to be fucked up and stupid."

He laughs, a hearty noise that fills the room. I can feel it in my chest, and I look Craig in the eyes as he presses his back against the counter. He's athletic, unlike me, and even in his baggy jersey I can see his biceps. His bright green glasses are tilted slightly down on his nose, and I can definitely see why Stan was attracted to him. He's cute. But before I take the thought any further, another thought pops into my mind.

"Where's Tweek?"

The comfortable smile that had settled on his face fades, and his eyes dart to the ground as he opens his mouth as if to say something, but quickly closes it. He thinks for a moment before answering, and I can tell he's genuinely conflicted. There's something about the ways he's acting, the way he fidgets with his hands and the way his eyes are half-lidded, that fills me with an unsettling sense of concern.

"We're not really talking right now. We broke up last week. I think he just needed a break after the party."

I nodded. I definitely needed a break after that party too. There was so much that happened that I still haven't worked through, let alone talked about.

"How are you and Stan?"

Oh shit, yeah. Stan.

I think back to him, sitting on the couch with Kenny and Clyde probably laughing at some joke I wouldn't think is funny. Would he be mad I've been gone so long? It's not like it mattered. We weren't "together." But Craig and Stan had been at some point. Not in a emotional way, but a physical way, and as I think further into the question I remember the rumors I've heard and the reason me and Stan hadn't been talking in the first place. Because of Craig.

I put back up a mental defense as best as I can in my current state, but it doesn't stop me from answering his question honestly.

I take another long sip of my now-full beer, slightly dragging my feet as I walk around the island in the center of the kitchen to the corner of the counter adjacent from Craig. "Why does everyone think we're dating? We're just really close. We're not like that."

Craig's face contorts into confusion at my words as I push myself onto the counter, and I can tell I've struck a chord. "Like what? Gay?"

Am I gay? I've never put too much thought into my sexuality, and although I've only ever been girls I've always just done what's felt good. I wasn't against the thought of being with a guy, I'd just never done it.

"I guess I'm just… open. I'm not really gay or straight."

Craig hums a quiet noise of agreement, and as I look up from the autumn color of my beer I almost jump. He's gotten significantly closer to me, his hand pressed against the counter almost brushing my waist and I can see his other hand reaching for the edge of the counter on the opposite side of my hip.

"Well, what are you into?" His words are deep, coming from his chest rather than his mouth.

His chest, which is so close to mine, is sturdy and buff and warm against my palm. Wait, when did I put my hand on him?

I take a sip of my drink, contemplating his question in my head. What am I into? Am I into just girls, or also guys? Does it even matter? Am I into Stan? Am I into Craig?

"I guess I'm into-"

"Kyle?"

I follow Craig's gaze to the corner of the room at the entrance of the kitchen, where Kenny stands in the doorway with a uncharacteristic look of confusion painted across his face.

"Hey Kenny," Craig removes his arms from around me, and I lower my free hand from his chest as he grabs for the refrigerator door. "You looking for more whiskey?"

Craig can't read the situation, but even in my drunken state I can see the irritation boiling behind Kenny's eyes.

"Nah, I came to grab Stan a beer. He finished his." Kenny's hand wraps around the solo cup on the top of the stack as he moves past me and Craig, and his eyes lock into mine for a split second.

They scream at me that this is wrong. They scream that the way I'm leaning into Craig ever so slightly, the way Craig's breath smells of Malibu and Tic Tacs against the side of my face, and the way Craig leans in a little closer and says "You wanna go somewhere else?" is all too wrong.

But I think about Stan and the things I've heard, and I'm angry and drunk and I turn away from Kenny and back to 's been so nice and looks so good, and he rescued me from the crushing anxiety that lurks in the basement. I lean in just a tad, letting the edges of my bottom lip dance gently over Craig's earlobe as he turns back me. "We can go check out Token's room. I heard he has a racecar bed."

Craig grins, his hand slithering up my side and helping me off the counter as an answer, and I see Kenny dart out of the room from the corner of my eye. I know what the repercussions of this decision are, but I'm way too drunk to care. And dammit, Craig is fucking hot. I can definitely tell he's just Stan's type. If not for being a cynical asshole, you may not be able to tell Stan's and Craig's personalities apart.

I don't like thinking about how similar Craig and Stan are, I just want to be in the moment and not think at all. I'm excited and nervous, and incredibly drunk, and as my feet hit the staircase going up I can't help but lean a little harder into Craig, letting his hands dip a little deeper into my waist.

"This is such a bad idea." It comes out of my mouth in the form of a laugh as I rake my fingers through my hair, the other hand grasping onto Craig with my life.

"Yeah," Craig shrugs as we reach the top of the stairs, his hand grasping around the doorknob to Tokens room. "But you like it."

* * *

Kenny plops back down on the couch beside me, his eyes glazed over with a distracted sort of look painted across his face. I turn my focus back to Clyde, who is desperately trying to get into Bebe's pants.

"Look, you don't even have to make general eye contact. Maybe like, look behind me or something."

"I would rather take a cactus up the ass while staring into the eyes of my dead grandpa than let you stick your dick inside of me."

I try my hardest not to laugh at Clyde's cataclysmic defeat and draw my attention back to Kenny. He still seems zoned out, the look on his face as if he's focused on something far away.

"Kenny," My words are slurring, and I try hard to conceal how drunk I actually am. "Dude, you okay?"

Kenny snaps back to reality, his hazy brown eyes focusing in on me as he turns his head before darting his gaze back down to the beer in his lap.

"Yeah, yeah I'm good. I think I've been drinking too much."

I snort as yesterday night rings back into my head; Kenny 8 beers in shooting a tiny BB gun at glass bottles in his backyard, and acing every one. This was only his second beer since we got here, right? "Come on, seriously. What's up?"

He shrugs, dragging his attention away from me and zoning out back into the party, so I drop the subject.

The party continues and Clyde keeps trying his best to successfully hit on pretty much all the girls around us. I lean back, throwing my arm over the empty space between me and Kenny, reminding me of our missing member.

"Kyle sure is taking his fucking time up there."

Kenny snorts, tipping his beer back against his lips and taking the rest of it down. "Probably cause he's gettin' dicked down by Craig right now. I wouldn't wait up for him."

My body freezes, the entire party evaporating from my mind, and my only focus in the world is the words coming from Kenny's mouth.

"What the fuck? What did you say?"

Kenny throws his empty cup somewhere into the crowd which elicits a few moans, but I don't fucking care. I don't care about anything in this stupid party besides Kyle, and I can feel my body tensing, my muscles gripping against my bones.

"I saw Craig pinning Kyle against a counter in the kitchen." He shrugs as he talks, clearly hurt by what he saw but not angry. "So it looks like we won't be seeing him for a- hey, Stan!"

I can't hear him anymore, I can't hear anything. Craig, that fucking evil idiot. A serious idiot if he didn't think I wasn't going to pulverize him into the fucking dirt when I pull him off of…

Kyle. What the fuck is he doing? Why would he even consider doing this? Our conversation from earlier replays in my head as my body leaps into overdrive. I tried really hard to open up, to accept my feelings and the consequences of them. Did what I say earlier just evaporate into air? He must not have taken me seriously, just like he said. I can't say shit like that sober.

I drive my body straight through the crowds of sweaty high-schoolers with nothing but air, liquor, and bright red fury pounding in my head. People turned into obstacles and the party turned into nothingness as I poured like liquid fire up the stairs, my eyes focused onto the golden doorknob leading to the room where Craig fucking dies.

"Stan?"

I stop, and whatever gear my brain is in does a complete 180-turn as the sound of a soft, drunk voice rings over the crowd. I turn, my eyes locking into his, and the first thing I do is complete a mental scan of his body. His hair is messy, the short, swept-over curls now fluttering with stray hairs around his face, and… he's wearing a different shirt. It's a blue sports jersey. Kyle doesn't do fucking sports.

I chase down the stairs, grabbing the crease of his arm and pulling him all too close. I dip down into his neck, trying to calm myself as I talk into his ear. "Where were you?"

His face curls into an angry scowl, and he turns away from me, yanking his arm out of my grip. "You aren't my fucking mom. Jesus."

"Are you serious?" I can't contain my anger as I grab his arm even rougher than before, my fingers curling around his wrist. "Did you fuck Craig?"

My voice is a low growl, and Kyle's brown eyes are bright and wide against the overhead lighting of Token's crowded house. "No, you asshole!"

He yanks his arm roughly away from me, freeing his hand and turning to leave. Fury presses through my veins as I grab it one last time, pulling him into the nearest empty room.

He yells and fights against me, but he's too drunk and too weak to push me off. I wonder if he fought against Craig. I wonder which answer to that would make me feel better.

I slam the door behind us, my eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room. It seems to be some sort of office, the moon pouring through a large window in the back of the room being our only source of light.

The moon rays paint over Kyle's face, his eyes wide and glassy from alcohol. He looks so damn pretty, so damn perfect with his hair a mess over the front of his face and his cheeks slightly reddened from embarrassment. Although I know the shirt isn't his, it completely swallows him and exposes his entire left shoulder, which is fucking adorable. Wait, what's on his shoulder?

I yank at his shoulder roughly, and I can't help it dammit, I really can't. I care about Kyle whether he realizes it or not, and after inspecting the quite obvious hickey on his collarbone, I damn near lose my mind.

Once he catches my gaze he shrinks away from me, the sudden realization of what he's done sobering him slowly.

"I'm gonna ask again Kyle..."

"No I didn't! I swear we didn't Stan…" his tone is apologetic, but as he speaks I see something in him switch like a light. A fire elicits behind his eyes, and he his palms push hard against me with a fury. "Not like it fucking matters if we did or not! Why the fuck would you care, you're the one that fucked him anyway!"

"You think I fucked that creep?" I'm yelling now, so loud that the party seems minuscule in comparison. "I didn't fuck him! I didn't fuck him because I want to fuck you!"

"Well that's the same reason I didn't fuck him!"

The thought of Kyle, tucked somewhere underneath (or on top of, I don't know how he rolls) of Craig, who was way more attractive than I could ever be, and only thinking of me hits me deep in my sternum. The thought of Kyle, sweaty and blushed, heavy lidded under the heavy touch of anyone but me, made me want to rip the fire out of my soul and burn down this entire party.

But the way he looks now, in Craig's stupid oversized college jersey and his hair flailing in every direction, shoots electricity through my veins and ignites my impulse with a unstoppable fury. I grab him roughly, wrapping my hands against his waist and slamming him against the back wall at light-speed. I don't try to hold back at all, in fact I've been fucking waiting for this. I've been waiting for _years_ for this and I finally had it: Kyle's ass against the palms of my hands.

I expect him to resist, to feebly throw me off of him and tell me to piss off, but it doesn't happen. Not even when my lips crash messily into his hard enough to leave bruises. He lets it happen, pushing back up against me, his legs parting and allowing my hips to grind roughly against his.

The friction of denim on denim feels so fucking good against my dick, and as his tongue slips past my lips aggressively I almost cum in my pants.

I feel his fingers raise my shirt and fumble against the zipper of my pants, and I pause to lean back and get a good look at him. I dig my hips against him to keep him pressed against the wall as his face focuses in on my pants zipper like it was fucking neuroscience. He's frustrated, wanting just as much to relieve himself as I do, and it's unbelievably fucking hot.

And then the light flicks on.

"Kyle! Stan! What the actual fuck! Get out of my house! This is my mom's office, seriously?"

Token is wide eyed at the doorway of the tiny office, and as my eyes adjust to the light I notice the rest of the party pouring out of the front door behind him.

Kyle is frozen, and so am I, and as our gazes turn to one another I can't help but want to laugh. He looks wild, like a deer in the headlights, and it's honestly one of the funniest things I've ever seen in my life.

It starts as a snicker, a quiet, gasped thing that I try my hardest to muffle or suck back in, but once it starts it doesn't stop. Kyle's eyes widen even more, which makes it even worse, and as I remove my hands from his ass and rub my palms against my face, I hear a snicker erupt from the red-headed boy beneath me.

We're crying laughing now, the world around us evaporating and leaving the two of us in this ridiculous fucking moment. The two of us were drunk, about to lose our ass-cherries in Token's mom's office. And it's hilarious.

Well, to me and Kyle at least.

It overflows me like a flood, and Kyle catches the runoff in an endless loop. We're laughing and laughing and laughing and I can't seem to stop.

Kyle buckles over, his hands curling into fists against my chest as he struggles to catch his breath, and I tell myself not to make eye contact with Token because it would only make things worse.

We're laughing, and Kyle is pressed against me, and we made out drunkenly in Token's mom's office, and guess what? It's currently the best moment of my life.


	5. chapter 5

A text from Craig, 3:08 AM:

"Is Kyle over rn?"

It's 3:08 AM on a school night, did he really think Kyle would be at my place at this time?

I reread the message over and over, debating internally if I _really_ wanted to reply.

It had been a week since me and Kyle were dragged by the collars of our shirts (well, mine and Craig's shirts) out of Token's mom's home office, and the quietest week of my life. I thought the newfound affection between me and Kyle after choking on each other's tongues and practically rubbing dicks would spark a small-something of a relationship, like boyfriends or whatever, but I was definitely wrong.

Kyle has been avoiding me like he avoids Cartman, which is ironic considering he's currently crashing on my floor and inhaling my food.

"Who was that? Your little Jewish fuck-toy? Does Jew Jesus allow gays, or no?"

Word about Token walking in on me and Kyle mid-fuck had spread around South Park pretty damn fast considering it wasn't even true. If he had walked in about 5 minutes later, then maybe it'd be true.

"No, it's Craig. I think he wants to hang out."

As much as Cartman lingered in everyone's business, he was completely clueless about the entire situation with Craig (knock on wood). It was a god-sent blessing to not have Cartman intertwined with your personal shit, and I wasn't trying to give him anymore information than he already had.

"Oh hell yeah, tell him to bring a pack of cigarettes. Craig's Dad is fucking loaded."

I roll my eyes, drawing my attention away from Cartman watching cable porn on my living room TV and back to my phone.

"nah, cartmans here tho. he says ur pay to get in the house is a pack of cigs"

I press send without fixing any grammar, too tired and too lazy to care.

The TV is the only thing lighting the room, and I try my hardest to zone out as some poor girl gets her ass rammed on "Tiny Teenage Almost Virgins."

Cartman shoves another handful of cheese puffs into his mouth as he leans against the couch I'm laying on, and honestly I would never fucking hang out with him like this on any other occasion.

It had been an entire week since I've last heard from Kyle, and that fucking sucked. I thought maybe, just maybe, we'd have something more to hold on to than just the awkward sexual tension and "best bros" friendship we've upkept all these years, but nope. I got dropped, with no explanation, just like that.

"Jesus Christ, can they legally put this on TV? I didn't even know legs could bend like that."

Cartman interrupts me mid-thought, and although I only agreed to this if he promised not make things weird, he was definitely making things weird.

The girl on TV moans loudly, filling the room with the noise of terrible acting. She was trying too hard to please whoever was watching, and it was an incredible turn-off.

I like soft, sweet, tiny moans, ones you can only hear if you're really listening. The kind that you don't even realize you're making, the kind that Kyle made.

The TV coats my living room in a soft glow, but I'm not even watching. My eyes are focused on the ceiling, and every time I blink all I see is Kyle.

Kyle, sitting on my bed eating Jolly Ranchers and re-writing one of my essays. Kyle, laughing at some stupid fucking duck video his dad tagged him in on Facebook while laying in the bed of my truck in Kenny's backyard. Kyle, back arching against the wall behind him as his palm rubs roughly against my dick through my pants and-

Oh shit. My phones ringing.

I check the caller idea before answering, putting the phone up against my ear as Cartman nags at me, demanding to know who's calling.

"Hello?"

"Dude open your fucking door it's freezing. Are you guys watching porn in there? You can hear it all the way from the driveway."

I hop off the couch, adjusting myself in my black basketball shorts and pulling the blanket off of my bare back as I make my way to the back door.

Cartman grunts about me being shirtless every time he comes over, but it's literally my house. I can't help that he's a fat fuck and feels uncomfortable around someone who is the baseline of physically fit.

"Yeah, it's fucking Cartman. My parents are out of town for the night and apparently this is 'wild' in his dictionary."

Cartman's mom sheltered him pretty damn good when it came to sex ed. Guess she didn't want him to become as big a slut as she was.

"Whatever." Craig snickers. "I brought-"

I open the back door, and Craig stops mid sentence to eye me up and down. He's wearing a hoodie with a NASA logo plastered to the front, along with basketball shorts and checkered Vans. All of his outfits are color-coordinated blue and green, and it made me feel a little underdressed.

Starting to feel a naked being shirtless at my open back door, I motion for Craig to hurry his ass inside.

"I brought cigs." He finishes, wiping his feet on the rug and kicking his shoes off before closing the door behind him. "So where are your parents at?"

I walk back to the living room, praying that Cartman has changed the channel by now.

"Sister's family weekend at college. She's up close to some stupid mountain or something so my mom wanted to make it into a date weekend or whatever. They'll be back Tuesday I think."

Craig's nods, tossing a gas station grocery bag onto the living room carpet as he enters the room.

"Sounds like something my mom would do. Here you go shitface. It's not even your house."

Cartman grabs at the bag like it's a fucking Christmas present, and it pretty much is considering how close of a watch his mom keeps on him.

"Jeez, quit bitching. Not like you're here to see me anyway."

I snort, giving Cartman a little bit of credit. Looks like he's a bit more intuitive than previously thought.

Craig has been coming over almost every night this week, coming upstairs and crashing in my bed. After his mom passed, his dad is pretty much never home, so he stays almost anywhere else to escape his empty house. So now, he's staying at my empty house.

Craig called me two days after the party at Token's to describe in vivid detail how Kyle proceeded to barf all over himself mid-makeout, and so he sacrificed his own shirt and vouched to wear one of Token's home.

Although me and Craig have never really been friends, we had actually started becoming friends through the process of this… bullshit. And maybe a _little_ more than friends.

I haven't let it go too far despite Craig's best efforts, but all I can think about is Kyle and how he would feel if I did. And it's shitty, considering I can't even get a damn text back, but whatever. I'm only human, and I'm only in love, and I'm only a teenager craving physical touch. So when I get a text from Craig at 3:08 wanting to come over and sleep in _my bed_? You bet your sweet ass I'm taking up on that offer.

I grab the sleeve of Craig's hoodie, tugging on it twice to get his attention. He turns to face me and I keep eye contact with him as I nod to the stairs. As fun as sitting in my living room watching cable porn with Cartman sounded, I could see dicks for free upstairs in my bedroom, minus the weird Cartman-being-there part.

Craig, who was in the same relationship-in-limbo stage as I was, nods in understanding and follows suit as I make my way up the stairs.

Last night Craig came over completely fucked on pills, and as much as he persisted, pawing at my clothes and nipping at my neck, I forced him to lay down and sleep it off. It was scary, seeing him in that state. Today he seems completely sober, at least I hope, and as I shut the door to my room behind us he flops down lazily onto my bed.

"Tweek called me earlier."

I cock an eyebrow, crawling over him to lay on the inside of the bed closest to wall. That's the coziest spot.

"Oh yeah? How'd that go?"

Craig sighs, laying still and keeping his gaze locked on the ceiling.

"He said-" he stops, his mouth hanging out as his head wraps around his words. Whatever Tweek said, it must've hit a sensitive note. "He said he's not sure if he's ready for us to get back together."

My eyebrows furrow in confusion as I try to better understand the situation. "So what does that mean for you guys?"

Craig turns to face me, breaking his focus from the ceiling and inching closer to me slowly.

"It means he wants to get back together but after high school is over. At least I think; he says it's a combination of trust issues and self image issues. Just a bunch of gay-ass excuses."

I snort, and I know Craig is upset but there's no way he can't see humor in this. "Craig, you're literally gay. Can you even say stuff like that? And also, if you think it's an excuse then just break it off. You don't want to be worried about Tweek for the rest of your senior year if he's not worried about you."

"Oh yeah?" Craig's eyes lower, a single brow arching playfully as he stares me down from behind the lenses of his glasses. "Break it off with Kyle."

I freeze, my heart skipping a beat with anxiety at the mention of Kyle's name. Kyle was a touchy subject, and I didn't talk about it a lot. I had mentioned a few things here or there, but only to Craig, and even then I didn't feel completely comfortable. "That's totally different."

"Yeah, sure." Craig rolls over, his back facing me, and I can tell he's upset with me but I'm really not sure why.

How was he even being bitchy about this right now? Kyle was _definitely_ not Tweek, and our situations were completely different.

After telling me about his drunken experience with Kyle, I briefly told him about mine too, and how I had been wanting to be with Kyle for years. I'm not really the one to confide in people, and I only mentioned what I wanted to, but it felt good to talk to someone in a similar situation. He actually helped, giving me some advice and some company on the side. He's definitely been more of a boyfriend than Kyle is right now.

I don't like that thought, don't like the words "Craig" and "boyfriend" in the same sentence, but I couldn't just let him lay in my bed and be fucking pissed at me for the rest of the night.

"Craig, stop. Oh my god."

I shake his shoulder gently, sitting up and rolling his body so that he's now laying on his back. He avoids eye contact with me, keeping a pointed look at the ceiling.

"It's just not that easy dude, like I wish it was. Yeah, I fucked up and I probably still am fucking up but it's not like me and you are a _thing_. We're just…" he puts his hands in the air, swinging them around as he tries to think of a word that accurately defines our weird relationship. "We're mutually lonely! Mutually deprived! Tweek doesn't want to fuck anymore, barely wants to touch me, and it's like, I don't know what's wrong! He's so anxious about everything and he refuses to talk to me about it."

Wow, shit. That's pretty heavy. I don't know why Craig is being so open tonight, but I really don't know how to take it. On one hand, it could just mean he feels comfortable enough in our friendship to be emotionally open. On the other, our little fuck-bud thing might be going too far, and stepping onto another level which I've quietly reserved for Kyle.

I just look down at him, his arched cheek bones and hooded eyelids and smooth, perfect, olive skin no longer a turn on. I choked on this guys dick two nights ago and now I don't even really want to be around him. Can feelings just do you like that? Just give up and quit?

I want to console him, I want to let him know he's a good guy and he hasn't done anything wrong, but I also want him to leave. I want him to leave and I want Cartman to leave too, and I want to get dressed and sneak into the sliding glass door of the house one block down from mine. I want to crawl into Kyle's bed and get as close to him as I possibly can.

This fake attention and company isn't holding me over anymore. I want the real thing.

But as Craig looks up at me, tears bubbling in the corners of his eyes as his glasses fog, I know what _he_ wants. What he _needs._

I lean down, my lips lightly pressing into his, and use the hand not propping myself up to slip gently up Craig's side under his shirt. His skin is still cold from waiting outside, and he flinches against my touch. He wasn't prepared for the timidness of my hands, as if I was asking and not demanding. When it came to being sexual with Craig, it was always rough and hard and fast. But this was nothing even remotely similar to that, and he wasn't sure how to react. I didn't like to show the delicate side of myself, the shy and sweet and soft side, but I knew that Craig needed to see it.

I had to play Tweek for the night, for the next few hours before we had to leave our escape and swing back to reality. Winter break was over, and it was time to forget all the shitty, fucked up things that had happened during it. Maybe I could forget this.

I gave Craig what he wanted, putting my hands in the right places and using them to do the right things, not treating him like an object I lusted for but a person I longed for. Treating him like I would treat Kyle.

He bent into my touch and melted against my sheets, and I hated every minute of it. I hated the way I felt a part of myself shift from my being and move into Craig. With every moan, every push of skin against skin, and every soft catching of breath I gave myself to Craig. Craig no longer bit me roughly, but lightly sucked on the skin lining my neck. It was sweet, almost loving, and I want more than anything for him to stop. He wants to simulate some sort of relationship he no longer holds, something he had but lost, and the touch I was previously giving him hadn't been enough.

It was slow, and lasted for what seemed like a lifetime in the dim lighting of my room. When we were done I think he almost knew that our time together had run out. We were done.

He grabs his clothes slowly, pulling them over his body piece by piece, and when he's done he says "See you at school." And slips out the door quietly. And it's just like that.

I lost my virginity to Craig in my bed while Cartman watched cable porn downstairs.

It's not like I was trying to save it.

* * *

Not many people knew I had been a virgin, in fact, I don't think anyone knew. Craig definitely didn't know, and I'm positive that Kyle didn't know. I didn't feel like sharing, and most people already assumed I wasn't.

I didn't feel the need to take it any further than sloppy head and make outs in the backs of cars, didn't ever feel the need to go all the way. The entire time I dated Wendy felt wrong, and made her feel wrong about herself because I wasn't willing to do what she was.

It wasn't that I was trying to save my virginity, I was just waiting for the right moment.

It was all about timing, and although Craig wasn't really my ideal cherry-popper, I could feel it in the moment that it was time. Maybe? I'm not sure.

I try really hard to not think about it, which is near impossible as Craig slithers through the door into Chemistry.

He glances at my desk, and he looks like shit. We both do.

I nod towards him, shooting a weak grin in his direction and he does the same before looking away. It's not like we weren't friends anymore, which we were. We just weren't continuing our short-lived, in-the-moment fling. I'm wearing his hat, but it's my hat now. In loving memory of the relationship we had, the time we had spent and what we had lost together. What I had lost.

He sits two rows over from me, and I try my fucking hardest to not look up at Kyle as he enters the room parallel to Wendy.

They're smiling, talking about something fucking nerdy no-doubt, and I press my forehead against my arms on the desk. This was going to be a long day.

"Stan,"

I keep my head bowed down, pretending not to hear whoever is talking to me.

"Stan wake up you little shit. I did your chemistry essay."

Wait, what? What the fuck?

I jolt my head up from the desk, turning and facing the desk directly behind me, knowing exactly who's sits there.

"What?"

Kyle's nose crinkles, like it always does when he gets irritated. "I did your chemistry essay, jerk. I knew you weren't going to do it yourself."

He pushes a small stack of papers paper clipped together into my back, but I can't even focus on that right now. Is this seriously what he was doing? Ignoring my texts and calls for an entire week after what happened and then pretending that everything is normal?

I glare at him, feeling the puffiness of my eyes and lack of sleep affect my vision, in utter disbelief. Did he think I was just going to pick back up where we left off before the break?

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

His eyes flash like a deer in the headlights, and for a split second I know he knows exactly what I'm talking about. But then the look fades away, being replaced by the previous facade.

"Whatever, fail then. Like I give a fuck."

He tucks the papers back into a folder and I turn back to the front of the classroom, letting my head fall back to my arms. This was going to be a _really_ long day.

* * *

"Want one?"

Cartman clutches onto the half empty carton of cigarettes Craig bought him this morning as I step outside to the back patio. He's in an alleyway on the side of the building, hidden between two school buildings where the emo kids and losers like me come to escape.

"Fuck yes." I desperately accept his offer as I step into the alleyway, and although hanging out with Cartman in the patio alley is probably severely damaging to my reputation, it's not like I really cared about it anyway.

He extends his hand with a cigarette on the tips of his fingers, his grubby sausages rubbing all over the filtered end. Gross.

I take it anyway, because I needed it to survive the rest of the day, and as I flip my backpack around to grab my lighter Cartman eyes me down.

"What class are you in right now?"

I light the cigarette, my eyes squinting from the sleet blowing in at the end of the alley. It had been a bitch of a week for South Park, the sleet not letting up for the past few days.

"Pre-cal. You?"

He blows a combination of smoke and steam into the cold crisp air, his eyes moving to the end of the alley toward the patio.

"English. Mrs. Crawford is a bitch."

I nod in agreement. It's cold, and wind blowing heavily from the end of the black-top alley blows hard enough to reach at the very end. What the fuck are we doing outside?

"So are you and Jew-fro like, official?"

I sigh, knowing this will be the first of many times I'd be ask that today.

"Fuck no. He won't even talk to me."

"He was talking to you today in chemistry?"

I roll my eyes, sending Cartman a pointed look. "He was bullshitting me. He's been ignoring me ever since the party."

I guess Cartman really didn't know about Craig. If he would have assumed I was with Kyle and then had Craig over last night as anything but friends, he would've snitched immediately just to cause conflict.

Cartman shrugs. "Maybe if you weren't constantly having Craig's dick down your throat he wouldn't ignore you."

Well, surprise surprise. Cartman's not such a dumbass after all.

I try my hardest not to blow up, because I know that Cartman has no clue what he's talking about. "Maybe if Kyle didn't ignore me, Craig's dick wouldn't be constantly down my throat. Except that it's not."

Cartman eyes me down, and as smoke seeps into the air from his nostrils I can tell he can tell I'm lying. But technically I'm not. It's not like Craig's dick was gonna be down my throat _anymore_.

Cartman and I have always had a rocky relationship, and after the thing with Wendy it's been even rockier, but we've patched and glued where we could. Cartman has never been a giant fan of Kyle, but he's never been an enemy of me, so it was safe to say I was safe in this situation. So why did I feel nervous talking to him about it?

"You guys are fucking idiots."

I snort, my insecurities dissipating as I puff on the end of my cigarette. "More than usual?"

"Definitely."


	6. chapter 6

Craig's house is quiet, not in the sense that there's no noise, but in the sense that it was hollow. Me, Cartman, Kenny, Token, and Craig all sat in the kitchen drinking cheap energy drinks and talking about what a bitch of a day it had been.

Craig and I sat parallel beside the window, which was cracked just enough to let the cigarette smoke go out without letting the cold come in.

Token was drinking a can of Busch beer while sitting with his legs in a pretzel on the kitchen island while Kenny and Cartman leaned against the back counter, Kenny showing Cartman some chicks nudes on his cracked iPhone. Gross.

"First day back and I already have 3 bullshit assignments. If I didn't give a fuck about my GPA I'd be a dropout and follow in Kenny's dad's footsteps."

Kenny looks up from his phone to shoot Token a pointed look from behind his jacket hoodie. He was pissed at me and Craig for smoking in the house, he hated it, and it was "too fucking cold" to have the window open.

"Fuck you dude."

"Kenny, Kenny fucking pay attention. Whose. Titties. Are. These."

Kenny zones back into his conversion with Cartman as the rest of try our hardest not to hear whose titties were on Kenny's screen. To be fair, out of anyone at school Kenny received the highest amount of ass. Hell, I'm pretty sure he had gotten some from Wendy during one of our "breaks," and I know for a _fact_ he had fucked Craig. But then there were the trashier girls at school, and although Kenny got the most ass, it wasn't always the classiest.

I sigh, snubbing my cig in the metal sink before standing and grabbing my coat off the counter beside me.

"As fun as this has been boys, I gotta bounce. Gonna try to do the most minimal amount of homework I can without flunking out of my senior year."

They all nod, the only one saying bye being Token, and I walk to the back door without checking back at Craig. He had been cool the whole day, but I could tell there was something still lingering there from this morning. I was trying my hardest to ignore it, my hardest to pretend we were done and through, but something in me knew that I might go home to my empty house and lay there until I became lonely enough to send him a text. We were stuck in a never ending loop, and I didn't know if it was good or bad.

It's not so much sleeting outside as it is raining, and as I haul ass all the way around the house to the driveway the rain coats my jacket. It's cold, and rainy, and life fucking sucks. My senior year.

I drive home, a hard rock weighing down heavily in the pit of my chest, and I think about Kyle. I'm so angry, and frustrated, and confused, but I still want to be around him. Maybe tomorrow I'll put up with his stupid charade, just so I can get some sort of attention from him. I wanted to be close to him again, wanted some form of attention that was genuine, but it felt as if I was always giving and never receiving.

I pull into my empty driveway, and park my car as the truck heater blasts in my face. I just want to sit here and never move, where it's warm and I can pretend like there's someone inside this stupid house that actually gives a fuck about me. Does Craig give a fuck about me? I mean, I lost my virginity to him. Doesn't that make us something?

I thought what happened between me and Kyle would make us something, but it didn't. Why should me and Craig be any different?

Did Craig just want his fuck and then to leave? I feel like I give to Craig, and then I give to Kyle, and they just take it and leave. At least Craig was actually treating me like fucking person now. Kyle wasn't treating me like anything.

I force myself to step out of the truck, dragging myself inside with nothing but my dad's liquor cabinet on my mind. I was going to get fucked up, and then wake my hungover ass up and drag it to school tomorrow. Maybe I'll get alcohol poisoning and die, wouldn't that be nice.

I take the front door instead of the back, not having the energy to walk all the way around, and I fiddle with my keys in between my half-frozen fingers as I try to open the door.

The house is warm when I step inside, and as I toss my coat and keys to floor I tell myself I'll pick them up later knowing damn well I won't.

I walk around my couch and past the dining room into the kitchen, my eyes locking in on the cabinet above the fridge as soon as I step in the doorway.

"Hey."

I flinch, jumping almost two feet into the fucking air as my eyes zero in on the small red headed boy standing behind my kitchen counter. I was so focused on grabbing some booze that I didn't even notice him, and after I finish freaking out I try my hardest to keep a steady voice.

"What the fuck, Kyle? How long have you been waiting here?"

He shrugs, and I can see he's helped himself to a beer.

"I walked here after school. I thought you would be here and I didn't feel like walking home in the rain."

It was raining after school, and even though the school wasn't more than 4 miles from our houses I can't believe he walked all the way here without getting hypothermia.

"You literally could've asked for a ride."

"Like you would've gave me one." His nose scrunches up, and he takes another sip of his beer as he rolls his eyes. "You didn't talk to me all day."

This strikes a chord with me, and I try to pretend it doesn't but somehow the words come pouring out.

"You didn't talk to me for a fucking week, and now you wanna bitch because I rejected your lame attempt at pretending everything was normal? Jeez, I'm so fucking sorry."

I storm past him, reaching above the fridge and grabbing a bottle of Jack Daniels before turning around and B-lining for the stairs. He's trying to talk to me, and I hear him, but I'm not listening. I'm so angry and frustrated, I don't even want to think right now. I just want to pretend he's not even in the house, which is ironic considering I was just wishing for the exact opposite.

"Stan, what the hell!"

I can hear his footfalls on my wooden stairs, he's still wearing his shoes. His mom doesn't let him wear his shoes in the house.

When I get to my room I shut the door behind me, but it only stays shut for a few seconds before Kyle bursts through.

"Stan, you're acting like a fucking kid!"

I snort, falling back into my bed and flicking the lid of the Jack Daniels bottle off somewhere into the room. "That's rich coming from you."

"What the fuck do you want me to do Stan? Look, I'm sorry, okay? Can we just move on?"

I take a heavy swig from the bottle, pushing myself to lean my back against the wall and stare Kyle down. He's wearing a brown knit sweater that closes close around his neck, which makes me think his hickeys haven't faded away. Mine are a light yellow with a sweet purple center, and they line up the right side of my neck, but I have bothered covering them. Kyle was ashamed.

"Define: 'move on.'"

He throws his arms in the air, his cheeks glowing a pretty pink blush in embarrassment. "Are you serious right now."

I nod, whiskey burning the back of my throat. "Dead serious."

Kyle's face is deadpan as he glares at me, but so is mine. I want to know if he wants the same thing I do, which I know he doesn't. He wants to pretend nothing ever happened, and as much as I wish I could, I can't. I want us so much more.

"Like," he sighs, running his hands through his curls. "Like how we used to be."

"Well, that's not gonna happen. I can't just pretend what we did didn't happen. I really don't see how you can."

I want him to leave, I want to leave, I want to disappear and never come back. The room feels tight and it's because Kyle is taking up all my room, he's so large and in the way that I can't avoid him.

"I'm sorry I just want to be friends again! You've been so weird since all of this shit with Craig happened, and I just want to be your best fucking friend, like is that so hard!"

He's yelling, and I hate yelling unless I'm drunk, and I'm definitely not drunk yet.

"Look, Kyle-"

"No dude! You started this, you're the one that fucked this up!"

"What?" I sit up now, throwing the bottle to the side and looking Kyle in his eyes. He looks hurt, but he shouldn't feel fucking hurt. _I should feel hurt._ If anyone should feel entitled to being hurt, it should be me.

"I didn't fuck anything up! If making out with you is a fuck up then you might as well alert half our grade-"

"That's not the fuck up! Telling me you love me after rubbing dicks with Craig is a fuck up! And then wearing his stupid fucking hat around like your his bitch!"

He throws his fucking car keys at me and as I duck they smash into the wall behind me.

"We're really gonna talk about being Craig's bitch? Who walked out of Token's party wearing his fucking shirt and his fucking hickeys!"

It was a low blow, but definitely an effective one. He's fucking livid, but so am I, and I was not going to let him convince me I was in the wrong.

"They were yours too! He told me about how you let him stay at your house the day before!"

"And?" We were stepping onto dangerous ground, and Craig staying over was not a subject I personally wanted to dip into. "That's all it was! Just spending the night, he was drunk! I want to be with _you_ Kyle, but you make it so damn hard!"

We pause, catching our breath and letting the steam rise from our words. You can always tell when Kyle is trying to hold back tears, the way he avoids eye contact and the way he intertwines his fingers behind his head. I didn't like this, didn't like arguing with Kyle like we were a married couple and not like we were best friends.

"You said you just wanted to be best friends, but why can't we be more at the same time? You've been acting like you don't want me all together." I quickly suck in air, holding back my emotions and trying my damndest not to break down. "Who the fuck ignores someone like that?"

Kyle sighs, keeping his hands folded on the back of his neck as he turns away from me. "I don't know Stan, I'm just… I've never been in a relationship before, especially with a _guy._ And you've been with so many people, you were with Wendy for like, forever and then Craig. I don't know what I'm doing, I don't want you or anyone else to think I'm stupid or naive. It's fucking intimidating."

A ping of guilt hits me hard in my chest, because this would've been my moment. I would've taken Kyle in my arms like I've thought about again and again, and done what I know should have been reserved for him. But I can't. I had my moment, and I handed it away. Not to someone who didn't deserve it, but to the wrong person all together.

My words are lost somewhere in the back of my throat and I struggle to find the right thing to fill in the silence.

"You shouldn't feel like that."

It's the best I can manage for now as I resist the urge to call him 'dude.' I want to fill the space between us, the awkward climate surrounding us creating a rising tension. He tries to resist me as I move closer, tries to pretend like I'm not beside him and the moment isn't happening. Except that it is, Im making it happen, and as I place my palm softly against his cheek his eyes glance up to catch mine. Our gazes meet, and for the first time in over a month I feel something genuine. Not lust or want, not the gritty feeling of skin against skin, but need. I _needed_ this. I needed emotion, I needed some sort of feeling that wasn't purely carnal to drag me out of this hole I've dug myself into. And Kyle was it. No more fighting, no more resisting.

He's mine.

* * *

A text from Craig, 2:47 AM:

"Are you awake?"

Son of a bitch. Yeah, I'm awake, and I'm still floating through my post-coital high, but I really don't know if it's such a bright idea to tell Craig that. He probably wanted to come over and finish where we left off the other night, but I had already finished that with Kyle. I didn't want to finish it with someone else.

I set my phone on my chest face down, my eyes subconsciously staring at the ceiling in the dark. Kyle was asleep beside me, and he should be because, _goddamn_ , he wore himself out. Wore _me_ out.

I wasn't expecting to have sex with Kyle tonight, even after making out for a full thirty minutes I didn't expect it, but it definitely happened. And it was perfect, rough and soft at the same time, laced with the perfect amount of emotion and want. It was everything I wanted, everything I needed to know that Kyle wasn't fucking around. Kyle is the modern ecstacy. God, that's probably the gayest thought I've ever had.

My phone buzzes against my chest, and I pick it up to check who it is.

It's Craig. Again.

"Look this isn't a booty call or anything dude i really need to fucking talk to someone before i lose my mind"

Well, shit.

I hop off the bed as carefully as I can, untangling myself from my beautiful bed partner. I stumble into the hallway as naked as the day I was born, and as I flick on the hallway lamp I dial the number into the keypad. It only rings once before he answers.

"Jesus Christ, I thought you were gonna ignore me."

I snort, leaning my back against the cold wall. "What made you think I was awake?"

"Because you've been awake at three for the past week dumbass. Do you have time?"

I shrug, despite the fact he can't see me face to face. Damn, I need to turn the fucking heater on. "Depends, got time for what?"

"Time to talk?"

"You think I've got something more important going on at three in the morning?"

I can hear Craig audibly growl from the other end of the phone. "Don't get fucking smart, dude. I'm like, not in the mood."

God, I hate the way Craig talks sometimes. He's such a frat boy. "Then hurry up and like, talk."

He doesn't like being mocked, but he ignores it. He must really not be in the mood.

"Tweek texted me earlier, and we were talking for a while. And he's always awake in the middle of the fucking night, so I thought I'd go over there, take him to get food or something, right?"

I nod, again, like a dumbass. "Yeah. Right."

"Well, I get to his street and I'm about to pull in, and guess who's fucking car is in the driveway dude."

Jesus Christ. Craig wasn't a fucking frat boy, he was a sorority girl. "I have no clue, but _holy shit_ the suspense is killing me."

"It was _Kenny's raggedy ass fucking truck_."

Ah. Kenny's raggedy ass fucking truck. That actually made sense, considering how close him and Tweek were at Craig's party, and how upset Kenny was about Craig and Kyle at the last party. Although it was popular belief that Kenny and Butter's were in a relationship, it is a well known fact that Kenny is a slut. The man takes what he can get, so it's really not too outlandish that he's over at Tweek's right now.

"Okay… maybe you should just ask him? I know you and Kenny aren't like, too cool right now after your party, but maybe there's a reasonable explanation man."

Me and Craig both know that Kenny is most likely dick-deep in Tweek right now, and we also both know that I am just saying what any good friend would say to console someone in this situation (Not that me and Craig were _good_ friends. Just friends. Strictly regular friends.) But Craig buys it, making my life a hell of a lot easier.

"Well… what do I even, like, say to him? How do I even bring that kind of thing up? I'll sound like a fucking stalker."

"Just tell him the truth, Jesus, Craig." I'm getting frustrated, wanting to go lay back in bed with my brand-new, naked (maybe?) boyfriend and not wanting to be on the phone with the guy I lost my virginity to the day before. "Don't be a drama queen, just tell him you were gonna surprise him with food and you saw Kenny's truck so you decided to leave them alone."

The phone gets silent, Craig's voice fading into nothingness on the other end. The pause takes too long, not like there's a loss of words but instead words that don't want to be said. Shit.

"Craig where are you right now?"

Another pause, but he finally speaks in a very low tone. "I'm in my truck."

"Where's your truck, Craig?"

"I'm… I'm in Tweek's driveway."

Shit, I knew it. Craig has officially flown off his fucking rocker.

I stand up straight, butt-ass naked in the middle of my dimly lit hallway, and I am doing my best to not raise my voice above an awkward whisper-yell.

"Craig, listen to me. You need to leave Tweek's house _now_. You are dipping into really creepy, crazy-ex territory and I really don't think you want any more shit spreading about you at school."

"Like I give a fuck about what spreads about me at school, Stan."

He's getting irritated, which isn't a good sign at all, and I try my hardest to quickly think of the correct words to de-escalate the situation.

"Craig, if what is already going around about me and you is affecting your relationship with Tweek as severely as it is, then you know that this is a terrible, terrible fucking idea. If you really care about him you will pull out of his driveway, and go home."

It's silent over the phone again, seconds of static passing until a broken voice hums lowly through the speaker. "Do I have to go home?"

Well, fuck. This is the part of the phone call I've been dreading. I almost thought I could get away with avoiding it, but I knew better. I really should tell him the truth, say 'hey, everything between me and Kyle worked out and he's happily sleeping in the same bed you fucked me in yesterday,' but I don't. I lie, knowing that it's probably going to bite me in the ass later.

"You can't come over here man, I'm sorry but Cartman's over and I really don't feel like him getting involved in all of this bullshit. I just don't think it's a good idea."

Again, more phone static, but it was expected. It's a bad lie, only half believable, but it works.

"Shit, okay. I'm going home."

I sigh, a genuine sigh of relief, and relax my body as I push my spinal cord back against the wall. I tell him he made the right decision, and we exchange goodbyes, and as I hang up I bask in the silence of my stress-free hallway. Everything was going to get better, things were back on track again.

I lumber back to my bedroom door, pressing my body into it as I begin to turn the knob, and the first thing I notice is the bedroom light is on. Kyle is awake.

I swing open the door, and Kyle is fully dressed sitting on the edge of the bed. He's tying his right shoe, his left shoe sitting on the floor beside him, and as he glances up at me I begin to feel extremely naked. Because I am.

The corners of his mouth tilt up into a grin, his brows dipping in the sexiest fucking way, and I blush as I try to play it cool and hop back into bed. How long has he been awake? Did he hear me talking to Craig?

"Was that your mom?" His voice breaks, and it sounds extremely horse, and this time it's my turn to grin.

"Uh, yeah. Flight delayed. Their gonna be back Sunday night."

Technically not a lie. Mom texted me as soon as I got out of school yesterday, right before we all decided to go to Craig's house and catch a buzz.

"Are you leaving?"

Kyle cocks an eyebrow and begins to put on his left shoe.

"Uh, yeah? Cartman lives right down the fucking street and if he passes by and sees my truck his fat-ass is gonna tell everyone."

Oh. If he would have said "We have school in the morning!" Like I expected him to, it would have been okay. But he was more concerned about people finding out about the two of us than anything else, and that wasn't okay.

"Kyle, you're a dumbass. How many times have you crashed at my house before. You really think Cartman is that intuitive. And who the fuck cares, anyway?"

Kyle snorts, standing up to grab his jacket off of my computer chair. "I do, Stan. I don't need a bunch of drama surrounding me at school. You may be used to it, but I'm not."

Wait, what? Is he serious?

"You're fucking joking, right? I know I just had my dick inside of you, but please, you don't have to try so hard to be a bitch."

I launch myself out of bed and B-line for my closet, throwing on a pair of basketball shorts and trying my hardest to block out whatever the fuck Kyle was yelling at me right now.

"-such a cunt!"

"At least I don't act like I have one." I know I'm taking it too far, but I'm honestly in utter disbelief. Why doesn't he just say what he means?

He's yelling, and god, he really does sound like such a bitch. I can understand why him and Cartman get into so much.

"Why don't you just say it? Stop beating around the fucking bush, Kyle."

He stops, and I can't tell if it's because he understands what I'm saying or if he's angry that I interrupted him.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

I throw my hands in the air, I'm tired of him playing stupid. "You're embarrassed dude. You're embarrassed cause you're fucking a guy. I don't know if it's like, a jew thing, or-"

"No, dammit! It's not a jew thing! And I'm not embarrassed!"

Kyle's yelling is so high pitched, and it gives me a fucking headache.

"Yes, you are! You're so fucking paranoid about people finding out about us, that you got up and got dressed at three in the morning to drive home, forgetting that you fucking walked here!"

He pauses, his eyes falling as he remembers the rainy walk to my house from the school. He hates feeling stupid, and I start to feel like an ass as he avoids eye contact. A quiet Kyle is not a good Kyle.

"Whatever, let me get my hoodie on and I'll drive you home."

I don't feel like arguing anymore, and I definitely didn't feel like fighting for this anymore. I had tried and tried and tried for this, but I can't make this work if he didn't want it to. He was ashamed, and there's no way a relationship can work if you're ashamed to be in it.

Maybe it _was_ a fucking jew thing. I don't know. But I can't keep trying to make Kyle want me when he doesn't, and it definitely feels like he fucking doesn't.

The drive to Kyle's is silent, and it's not from lack of trying. I try to pry words from his mouth, apologize for calling him a bitch and make small talk in hopes of sparking up the "best-friends-like-nothing-happened" facade, but nothing works. He's silent, somewhere in his own head, and I want to know what's in there. I wish I could read minds, or be an empath, or something. I just wish I knew what he was feeling.

When I park in his driveway it's 3:37, and we sit for a moment in silence.

I glance over at him, his cheeks reddened and the street lights casting beautiful, orange stripes over his beautiful, freckled face. He looks braindead, and it's probably because he's not used to being up so late, but he's the prettiest braindead-bitch I've ever seen.

I lift my hand up tentatively, and it's almost like trying to catch a butterfly. Like you don't want to scare it off, and you don't want to hurt it's wings. You just want to hold it.

My palm presses gently against his cheek, and it's cold to the touch despite the fact that the heater is on. He flinches, for just a second, and then eases into my touch slowly. I lean forward, and it feels like a fucking lifetime before the tip of my nose is an inch away from his. His breath is warm against my face, and even though I'm right in front of him he still avoids eye contact with me. I hate that.

"I know you don't want to be seen with me, or whatever. But I would literally make a T-shirt that said 'Kyle's Bottom Bitch' and wear it around school just to _prove_ to you how badly I want this."

His face remains stagnant, but his eyes dart to meet mine. "No you fucking wouldn't."

I try my hardest to keep a straight face, I really do, but it doesn't last. I snort, dipping my forehead to meet with his, and I can see a sliver of a smile break over his face.

"Okay, maybe I wouldn't, but it's a really good hypothetical scenario to describe how much I'm willing to do to make this work."

His eyes stay locked into mine, and I swear that when we kiss, I wasn't even the one to make the first move. It's light, not wanting or needing or lusting or sexual in any form, but loving. It's reassurance that maybe Kyle actually wanted to be my fucking boyfriend and not my fucking boy-who-happens-to-be-my-friend.

Kyle was my boyfriend. I mean, I'd have to ask first, but I'm pretty damn sure this was real.

From drunkenly telling him I loved him from the passenger seat of my truck, to making out with him while he's wearing another dude's shirt, to kissing him in his driveway. It had been one hell of a ride, but this moment now has made it all worth it.

He pulls away, opening the passenger door without saying anything, and I watch him slide out and walk up the driveway with the stupidest grin plastered to my face.

That was my boyfriend. And I really couldn't be more excited about it.

* * *

"What? I'm not at that faggots house. Kyle's over there, I saw him walk up the driveway on my way to your place. You think I want the smell of gay-jew wafting off me when I walk into school tomorrow? Jesus, Craig. I'm going the fuck back to sleep."

The line goes dead, and as the silence of my empty truck sinks in I realize how ineffably alone I feel. And that sounds dramatic, I know, but it's genuine, and it's a feeling I can't seem to fucking shake.

Me and Tweek have been together since elementary school, and I was the only person he had ever been with. Now it's fucking soiled, the entire relationship, and Kenny was at his house soaking up the scraps.

The only person I actually thought I had left had someone else, had _lied_ to me about having someone else. I thought I could call Cartman and offer to buy him cigarettes as some sort of peace treaty, maybe go over to Stan's and actually hang out like a normal teenage boy instead of choking down his dick, just anything to relieve the feeling of having absolutely no one.

Why did he lie? Was he planning on saving me for later? Was I the back up in case him and Kyle didn't work out?

The absolutely worst case scenario would be he wanted to have us at the same time, but Stan doesn't seem like that kind of guy, does he?

I don't know, I really just don't fucking know. All I want to do is find somewhere to sleep where I'm not alone, where there's a warm body beside me and the house isn't an empty shell haunted by the memory of my once-living mom. It wouldn't be so bad if Dad actually came around every once in a while, but he was way too busy getting fucked up in bars and passing out in alleyways. It sounds cliche, yeah, but there's a reason cliche's exist.

It's not like my new medication helps any, and if it did I'd be fucking asleep right now, not in my truck at four in the morning on a school night driving house to house looking for temporary relief.

My thumb waivers over his number, and as I finally decide to tap the screen I shut my eyes as hard as I can, praying he'll pick up.

"Craig? Listen, you can't-"

"Look, don't say anything. I don't want to fuck anything up that you have going on, I just need a place to crash. My meds have me fucked up and I don't want to go home, dude. I don't trust myself to be alone."

There's silence, seconds of phone static, and then a hesitant sigh. "Yeah, yeah you can come over. I'm not going to school tomorrow though, it's too fucking late."

I release a sigh of relief, tears swelling behind the frames of my lime green glasses. I hated asking people for things, I hated seeming like a little bitch.

"Shit, man. Thank you so much, Stan."

I hang up, cranking my truck and pulling out of my own driveway. I drove all the way home, sat in front of my empty house, and cried until I grew the balls to call him.

Now I don't have to sleep alone.


End file.
